Not always a choice
by the-internet-addict
Summary: Soulmate countdown AU, JohnLock. Device implanted in the arm of new born babe counts down to the moment a person meets the one human decided to be their soulmate. How will it fall into place? who knows? I certainly don't. Read and review/Or follow. not my first but still be kind(also all pairs have a dom. and a sub. what fun) Dom. John rlock(rated m for a reason)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter one  
I do not own any characters or settings in this story. I am using purely for enjoyment ad am not making money off anything.  
So hey lovelies this is chapter one revised. please review and the other stuff it means a lot. also if you have anything to say that you want to be more private please e-mail me at notalwaysachoice . (if that dosent show up its "not always a choice" with now quotes and no spaces "at symbol" G male(mail). com sorry if you cant read the email it usually won't work.

I'm not really good at this hole commitment thing, so i'm going to try harder. I now we all kinda think its annoying when a writer on here asks for reviews, i understand why now(don't kid yourself i know you hate it) But if you want me to write anything you need to give feed back like"you need to add more details" or "I think you should add in more dialogue" or even "it seems like you're rushing the chapters and missing some interesting...blah blah stuff" So if you all want more chapters you need to review the chapters. I need feedback and suggestions if you want me to write this.

I plan on having weekly updates but who am i kidding it will probably be realy sporadic.

anyway here. and pre/post-script i know it starts off slow

There is not always a choice about who you love, when they're chosen or you moments after birth, because in the world of John H. Watson and Sherlock Holmes you are implanted with a small device the size of a watch. It tells time just no the one you are looking for on a watch. the device a little larger than a watch counts down to the moment you will meet "the one" the person that will complete you as a person, your "soulmate" if you believe that, if not they would be the one person to best complete you as your better or sometimes worse half. So weather you believe in them or not this is the progression through life of Sherlock and John.

On march 31st a cloudy but not rainy afternoon in a small hospital in the english countryside a beautiful blonde haired blue-eyed baby boy was whisked away from is mother Jane watson. John as what she named him. John H. Watson after his father that had died not three months on February 31st. He had been on his way from his job at a local pub. he was broadsided by a drunk driver. To add insult to injury the driver of the other car was led away in handcuffs with neigh a scratch. John Watson had slipped into a coma and was pronounced brain dead within 24 hours. Jane sat beside her husband clutching his hand and and wrapping her arm protectively around her rounding belly, as she told the doctors to pull the plug on the respirator and life support system. She clutched his hand as his chest grew still and hand grew cold. After John was pronounced dead Jane a left the room and picked up her already 3 year old daughter an led the sobbing girl back to there home where Jane made the funeral arrangements. John would grow up to become a doctor, a doctor to save people so they would grow up with their families, their whole families unlike him.  
John as taken to the Implantation ward. A not so nice name for a not so nice idea a young scientist had stumbled onto a technology able to detect your perfect match then precisely predict the exact meeting date.  
John's match was unlike any other man ever born. he would grow up to have dark unruly hair with graceful defined cheek bones to go with his gracefully lanky tall frame and startleing eyes that noone really could tell the colour of(If they botherd trying). It wasn't what was on the outside much as the mind within the the skull that was so different.  
Sherlock Holmes was in short a genius even by genius standards. In fact both the Holmes boys were gifted. Mycroft the eldest was shaped from birth for a seat of power, being able to tell what buttons to push and exactly how hard to push to get exactly what he wanted. They both deduced information but Sherlock went deeper he could tell a persons life story by a short amount of time. "a mind of a philosopher or a scientist" Mycroft had said on multiple occasions.  
Too bad Sherlock was beaten into a shell that wouldn't be opened for a long long time


	2. Chapter 2

I can't get my e-mail to show for you but i'm gonna try one last time. it is notalwaysachoice at g male(mail) . co(m) without brackets or spaces and the right form of mail in this context.  
so ya I'm back quite fast, enjoy. I swear I love writing this but i would really like some feed back.

Sherlock grew up with more nannies then some have brain cells it seems. From as young as sherlock could remember his parents Ingrit and Sherrinford Holmes were not the caring type. Cold in all respects they left both Sherlock and Mycroft in the constant care of nannies until they were around 4.  
The boys were gifted with eidetic memories and sharp eyes. to elaborate Mycroft had gifts of for politics, his parents at the age of five or even befor, began to shape their eldest to fit a seat of power in the government, the eldest originally wanted to be an acrobat. Sherlock could deduce anything given time from what leg you start with when you climb stairs, it went much deeper then that though he saw details that and ordinary person would miss, though in this he would have had to be an idiot to miss anything.  
"Sherlock Holmes", he flinched at his own name. "Sherlock, Why would you embarrass us like that?" he sounded so very very angry "In front of all those people , why would you show off like that?".  
Sherlock at age three showed his deduction skills amazing anyone and everyone, at four all of the children were no longer amazed with how brilliant he was and began to turn on him, at age five he was withdrawn from public school, and at 5 1/2 he made a very bad mistake.  
"YOU WITH YOUR SMART ASS MOUTH DO YOU KNOW WHaT YOU DID"  
At the Holmes estate that was much more like a small castle then a house, Mr Sherrinford and Mrs Ingrit Holmes were hosting a gala for a very prestigious Charity. Sherlock, dressed up all fancy and proper, was overwhelmed with the amount of people there. He tried not to fidget(and not to think more likely) but so many sounds, so many boring stupid people. He had been withdrawn from school and home schooled for six months. He was over stimulated and scared. He slipped up when Mrs Florence, the head of the charity asked him how he liked the gala, he loudly deduced that she was a serial adulterous with 4 different lovers there and 2 that couldn't make it, witch he was of course right. Mr. Holmes stood in the shocked silence grabbed his child by the collar and scruff of the neck, then gracefully apologized and dragged him off to his "bedroom" that really was half of the top floor made into a loft.  
"Sherlock Holmes" he flinched at his own name again, he knew he had gone too far much to far. He kept his head low and submissive as possible with neutral body language. he was after all a sub in his partnership.  
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TAlKING" and before Sherlock could flinch his cheek stung and burned, he heard the smack of skin on skin but it was distant, it was hard enough to bring tears to Sherlock's eyes and ring in his head. The hit echoed through the room, off the high celling and bare walls, then through the cracked door and down the hall. His father couldn't have hit him, he was only a child, he wouldn't ever abuse his children.  
This time when Sherrinford raised his hand Sherlock stepped back cowering in fear, his father was faster though he grasped the boys elbow painfully tight. sherlock looked at his father dead in the eye and saw something burning there he had never seen, Sherlock called it pleasure.  
In the next moment Sherlock couldn't remember exactly what happened all he knew was pain, his arm burned and throbbed. He had heard a crack and a pop then he felt something give way in his shoulder. His father let go of his arm and he stumbled backwards, he fell then tried to cower against the wall. Sherlock tried to scurry down the wall towards the door but Sherrinford was again quicker, he lunged forward and stomped down hard on Sherlock's knee.  
This time Sherlock didn't scream he only opened his mouth, the soundless scream made Sherrinford grin.  
"You will wait here in your room until after the gala, then we will take you to the doctors, you threw a tantrum then tripped down the stairs, understand?" His voice sounded far away and fuzzy but Sherlock nodded whimpering and crying. "You won't cry or scream or make any sound." He said that almost sweetly, his hand cupped the cheek he had slapped earlier that was starting to bruise. Sherlock saw the gleam in through his tears, his eyes gleamed with pleasure and enjoyment, that was what scared the boy, thats what made him worry.  
"this wasn't my fault, you push me into this with our smart ass mouth, It isn't my fault"  
he said gently, then with that He waltzed out of the young boys room.  
Sherlock no longer felt pain, his entire existence was agony. Everything was white and nothing could be seen or heard to the boy. All he knew pain and fear, and it was every where and nowhere. He began to hum a melody he couldn't place,he had just began to learn violin between his homeschooling classes. He knew he should know the melody but he was just so tired that he closed his eyes and embraced the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

I can't get my e-mail to show for you but i'm gonna try one last time. it is notalwaysachoice at g male(mail) . co(m) without brackets or spaces and the right form of mail in this context.  
so ya I'm back quite fast, enjoy. I swear I love writing this but i would really like some feed back.

Sherlock grew up with more nannies then some have brain cells it seems. From as young as sherlock could remember his parents Ingrit and Sherrinford Holmes were not the caring type. Cold in all respects they left both Sherlock and Mycroft in the constant care of nannies until they were around 4.  
The boys were gifted with eidetic memories and sharp eyes. to elaborate Mycroft had gifts of for politics, his parents at the age of five or even befor, began to shape their eldest to fit a seat of power in the government, the eldest originally wanted to be an acrobat. Sherlock could deduce anything given time from what leg you start with when you climb stairs, it went much deeper then that though he saw details that and ordinary person would miss, though in this he would have had to be an idiot to miss anything.  
"Sherlock Holmes", he flinched at his own name. "Sherlock, Why would you embarrass us like that?" he sounded so very very angry "In front of all those people , why would you show off like that?".  
Sherlock at age three showed his deduction skills amazing anyone and everyone, at four all of the children were no longer amazed with how brilliant he was and began to turn on him, at age five he was withdrawn from public school, and at 5 1/2 he made a very bad mistake.  
"YOU WITH YOUR SMART ASS MOUTH DO YOU KNOW WHaT YOU DID"  
At the Holmes estate that was much more like a small castle then a house, Mr Sherrinford and Mrs Ingrit Holmes were hosting a gala for a very prestigious Charity. Sherlock, dressed up all fancy and proper, was overwhelmed with the amount of people there. He tried not to fidget(and not to think more likely) but so many sounds, so many boring stupid people. He had been withdrawn from school and home schooled for six months. He was over stimulated and scared. He slipped up when Mrs Florence, the head of the charity asked him how he liked the gala, he loudly deduced that she was a serial adulterous with 4 different lovers there and 2 that couldn't make it, witch he was of course right. Mr. Holmes stood in the shocked silence grabbed his child by the collar and scruff of the neck, then gracefully apologized and dragged him off to his "bedroom" that really was half of the top floor made into a loft.  
"Sherlock Holmes" he flinched at his own name again, he knew he had gone too far much to far. He kept his head low and submissive as possible with neutral body language. he was after all a sub in his partnership.  
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TAlKING" and before Sherlock could flinch his cheek stung and burned, he heard the smack of skin on skin but it was distant, it was hard enough to bring tears to Sherlock's eyes and ring in his head. The hit echoed through the room, off the high celling and bare walls, then through the cracked door and down the hall. His father couldn't have hit him, he was only a child, he wouldn't ever abuse his children.  
This time when Sherrinford raised his hand Sherlock stepped back cowering in fear, his father was faster though he grasped the boys elbow painfully tight. sherlock looked at his father dead in the eye and saw something burning there he had never seen, Sherlock called it pleasure.  
In the next moment Sherlock couldn't remember exactly what happened all he knew was pain, his arm burned and throbbed. He had heard a crack and a pop then he felt something give way in his shoulder. His father let go of his arm and he stumbled backwards, he fell then tried to cower against the wall. Sherlock tried to scurry down the wall towards the door but Sherrinford was again quicker, he lunged forward and stomped down hard on Sherlock's knee.  
This time Sherlock didn't scream he only opened his mouth, the soundless scream made Sherrinford grin.  
"You will wait here in your room until after the gala, then we will take you to the doctors, you threw a tantrum then tripped down the stairs, understand?" His voice sounded far away and fuzzy but Sherlock nodded whimpering and crying. "You won't cry or scream or make any sound." He said that almost sweetly, his hand cupped the cheek he had slapped earlier that was starting to bruise. Sherlock saw the gleam in through his tears, his eyes gleamed with pleasure and enjoyment, that was what scared the boy, thats what made him worry.  
"this wasn't my fault, you push me into this with our smart ass mouth, It isn't my fault"  
he said gently, then with that He waltzed out of the young boys room.  
Sherlock no longer felt pain, his entire existence was agony. Everything was white and nothing could be seen or heard to the boy. All he knew pain and fear, and it was every where and nowhere. He began to hum a melody he couldn't place,he had just began to learn violin between his homeschooling classes. He knew he should know the melody but he was just so tired that he closed his eyes and embraced the dark.


End file.
